


Dark Isle, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2003-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:04:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luthien and Beren's sojourn to Tol-in-Gaurhoth described in poetic verse. Violence described.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Canto I

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A flowing river, with torrents strong  
‘gainst rocks and stones through hills and valleys,  
the water black like ice shining  
in night starless clouds hovering over:  
the loud stream rushes ‘tween mountain peaks  
and in a green valley cleaves into two,  
and flowing separates, again meeting  
forming an isle ‘midst waters torrential.  
Once ‘twas green a stronghold mighty  
of elven arms, swords shining  
and shields blazing of Gnomes valiant,  
foes of Morgoth bright and fierce.  
A tower tall iron crownéd,  
‘twas beautiful once, white and high,  
but now in shadow and darkness cloaked:  
a citadel feared, the Isle of Werewolves.

His dark abode there Thû had made  
haunting the valley. A fortress of stone  
iron crownéd, the house of torment  
the Lord of Wolves the vale filled  
with haunting terror. The stones groan  
lamenting their fall. Mists of horror  
o’ershadow the tower, vast dark-pinioned.  
Thû’s flaming eyes rove the land  
over rock and hollow all things piercing,  
uncloaking, demasking. His wolves prowl in wait  
white teeth gleaming like pearléd ivory,  
hungry, slavering, filling with horror  
and terror unmasked the haunted valley.

Lo! In dungeons vile, black pits deep  
‘midst stones engraved with Thû’s horror  
to the wall chainéd lie two companions  
choked with desperation, iron bonds biting,  
devouring flesh on bleeding wrists.  
Only two are left of the twelve travellers  
on a dark quest, valiant but hopeless;  
for on the road were overtaken by Thû’s roving eyes  
and brought to his seat. None would betray  
their lord belovéd, and were thrown in dungeons.  
One by one a pair of eyes kindle in the darkness;  
the silent wolves would inward creep,  
devouring the men, rending their limbs  
with slavering sating the blood-thirsty lust  
for human flesh; with bones crushing  
pools of blood reek a halitus noisome.  
Only two now remain: King Finrod Felagund  
fairest of Elves fulfilling his oath whatever betide  
to Beren son of Barahir. Now hopeless they lie  
in gloom and desperation. A light in the darkness  
like two pale lamps appears in the dungeon:  
Beren’s doom draws nigh. A great dark wolf  
has come at last to rend his flesh  
and steal his life. Closer is draws.  
The quiet tread of its loathsome feet  
echoes on the stones. And there Beren sits helpless,  
awaiting his torment, the searing pain.  
Closer it draws. Suddenly King Finrod  
with a surge of strength, with power unnatural  
descended of old from the Elves of Valinor,  
bursts his heavy bonds from the walls of stone  
and locks in combat with the great wolf,  
snarling and biting, howling in pain  
with his last strength he fought his oath to fulfill  
to the bitter end. With his hands and teeth  
he tore at the wolf while the horror unfolding  
Beren watch helpless held by his bonds  
in a corner by the wall.

The yammering ceases,  
the wolf shudders and in death lies still.  
Beren watches in sorrow as Finrod lies before him  
with mortal wounds gaping and Beren’s heart is torn  
with sorrow wrenching when Finrod speaks his final words:  
‘To the Timeless Halls beyond Western Sea  
and tall mountains of Aman I go to long awaited rest.  
It will be some time before I walk again  
among my Elven kindred. But Beren, I fear  
that in death or life not again shall we meet,  
for sundered is the fate of our kindreds.  
Farewell!’ Thus he passed: Finrod Felagund,  
of the Gnomes most belovéd, the fair and faithful  
in dark Tol-in-Gaurhoth whose tall strong walls  
he himself had built. And to this grey world  
of tears and war he returns not.  
Into dark despair fell Beren, and mourned.  
But lo! A song he hears of enchanting beauty,  
innocence sweet and strong of shining stars  
and nightingales singing in green woods and leas!  
From whence did it come? With receding strength  
he answers and sings calling out to the darkness  
of Valacirca, the Sickle that Varda  
in the stars placed to adumbrate the fall  
of the Dark One, long awaited.  
Then his strength is spent from torture and sorrow.  
In a dark swoon he falls on the floor of the dungeon.  



	2. Canto II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luthien and Beren's sojourn to Tol-in-Gaurhoth described in poetic verse. Violence described.

Upon the bridge of the tower dark and tall  
over rushing river, sleek and black as ice  
stands one whose beauty outshines deepest horror.  
Starlight on her face and power in her voice  
she stands a solitary island of light in darkness,  
and hope in despair. A weak and lonely  
but defying voice she hears from the depths  
of the terrible tower. Can it be that he yet lives?  
She answered the song with one of great power  
and Thû the Abhorred with his flaming eyes  
saw her from the window of the vast tower’s pinions  
and knew her. He smiled wrapped in black thought.  
Wolves he sent out of such terror and strength  
and hate enmeshed in the sinews of their being  
that greatest warrior beneath their flashing gaze  
would tremble and fall. But she moved not  
from her place on the bridge, and as the wolves came  
one by one, as leaves in the wind  
their lives were snuffed out, and the burning hatred  
innate to their being was wrested from them;  
for Huan the Wolfhound, friend of the Eldar,  
hound of Valinor, grabbed their throats  
and slew them all. Yet Draugluin with bleeding throat  
escaped, and with his final breath  
revealed to Thû that Huan was there.  
Then cloaked in majesty and fathomless dread  
Thû himself took on werewolf’s form,  
greater than any that had ever been,  
and stalked away to win the bridge,  
for he knew the fate decreed for the Hound of Valinor.

Thû’s approach was filled with such terror  
that even Huan at first leapt aside.  
But soon the baying and yelping and tearing  
of their fight rang out so that many who heard it  
fell to great fear. Yet no diabolical, sigaldric force  
could overthrow Huan of Valinor,  
and Thû was pinned down with sharp teeth to his throat.  
And though shape he shifted could not free himself  
from the vise-like grip of the maw of his foe.  
Then Lúthien came with shining face  
and glass white hands and said to him,  
“Thou,” her voice was strong, “shall for e’er  
be rendered bodiless to come quaking back  
to the feet of thy Master. Scorn and torment  
ye always shall feel unless unto me  
the key to this tower thou renderest now.”  
Thû the great coward, disloyal and treacherous  
gave to the elf-maid the key and the power  
of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and betrayed his Master,  
as the wicked do, who serve only themselves.  
Then Huan released him and at one he rose up  
In vampire’s form. O’ershadowing the moon  
eastward he sped and to Taur-nu-Fuin came,  
filling it with nightmares tangible and real.

Then Lúthien again in all her power and might  
and beauty unknown to mortal tongue  
showed forth her power and called out to the Isle.  
Who knew but she what was in her words  
as great as castles and crashing sea waves,  
as beautiful as the gleaming Two Trees  
as powerful as the bright light of Anar?  
The wolf tower trembled from foundation’s core.  
The pinions quaked and the dark stones shook  
and loosened themselves from the grasp of the others  
and fell, fell, fell, tumbled and piled.  
They cracked and shook ‘neath pale moonlight  
and the breaking of treacherous, jagged rocks  
filled the valley and the silent night.

When it ceased at last no rock was left  
on top of another, all lay in scattered  
and petrous ruin. Emerging slowly  
from winding tunnels and cracked openings  
rise captives at last to the outward world.  
Their poor eyes shielding from pale moonlight,  
and with joy rejoicing over newfound freedom.  
But Beren comes not, and Lúthien fears.  
Not heeding the captives or cries of wonder  
that escape from their lips, or wondering glances,  
she looks in the stones frantically searching  
for a way to get down to the dark dungeon’s tunnels  
to find her beloved. Through dark passages  
running and calling with desperation his name.  
She fears too late she has come to his aid.

In a swoon of anguish and dark lament  
unhearing, unseeing, motionless Beren lies  
next to the body of Finrod Beloved.  
His heart is numb, he hears not when she calls  
nor her pattering feet. She finds him thus,  
and fearing him dead, falls upon him, and descends  
into forgetfulness deep. But Beren, awakening  
from dark chasms of deepest despair,  
sees her beside him, her shadowy hair,  
her quivering lips, her soft white hands,  
and then she awakens. They gazed upon each other  
in utter silence, and through the jagged stones  
the light of the dawn shone upon them once more.  



End file.
